Pryde
by Sashie001
Summary: Kitty Pryde teams up with an unlikely group of heroes and villains to protect mutants from extinction. *An updated version of "Creed's Pryde" & "Pryde's Wisdom."
1. Chapter 1

Jubilee's spine snapped. The sound of a wishbone amplified in human increment, a singular crunch and then nothingness. Kitty cried out, no training had her prepared her for this. Jubilee's body fell, kicking up dust on impact, black hair fluttering to still around her shoulders.

"No-"

Pietro doubled back, aiming for Kitty, Jubilee's blood on his proverbial hands. She was ready, phasing and then landing a blow to the backs of his legs, stopping him long enough to break his nose and blacken his eye.

He spat a tooth onto the floor at their feet, "Bitch."

Kitty wasn't nearly done, moving closer, ready to attack, but he was quicker, propelling himself at breakneck speed away and out of the room. Kitty shouted expletives, furious, heart broken, on her knees at Jubilee's hip.

A shadow filled the doorway Pietro had jetted through. She looked up, Victor Creed, as damning as a bad dream, stood in Pietro's place. Kitty's eyes narrowed, sparking with tears. Her uniform had ripped at the shoulder, exposing downy skin, the cut of one collar bone.

She regarded him through wet lashes, "What the hell are you doing here."

He ignored her, advancing. Kitty lunged, catching him around the waist, toppling them both to the ground. She phased before he could grab her, rolling aside, landing a series of blows along his ribs. He growled, more annoyed than hurt, "Knock it off."

She struck him again, his hand came down hard around her wrist, she phased, an unfamiliar frisson shot down her spine. His fingers remained, iron clad around her. She phased again, the electric current rerouting, panic bubbled up.

"Let go of me."

Victor complied, fingers uncurling to reveal a slim silver cuff.

His smirk turned her panic to fear, "What is this."

He didn't reply, picking up her other arm. Kitty attacked, headbutting him, slamming her free elbow into his groin. Victor's grip on her arm only increased, bordering on bone crushing.

"I told you to knock it off," he growled, jerking her closer so he could glare down his nose at her.

"Why can't I phase."

"You're smart enough to figure it out," he replied, starting towards the rear of the building, Kitty in tow. Jubilee left behind, alone on the dirtied floor. Kitty twisted, "Let go of me."

"Can't," Victor said, without breaking stride. "You've got something that belongs to me."

"What are you talking about-"

He stopped short and she bumped his shoulder. Before she could replace the space between them he picked up her cuffed wrist, holding it high enough to catch the overhead lights.

"Take it back," she snapped.

He shook his head.

"Why can't I phase," she repeated.

"I'll remove it once we're through."

Kitty's eyes narrowed, repeating, "Once we're through?"

"I need your help."

She jerked backwards, brought up short by his grip on her arm, "And if I refuse?"

"A little late for that," Victor replied, dropping her cuffed wrist to lead her farther away from Jubilee. Kitty gave his forearm a crunching chop, ducking away from his opposite hand. Victor prowled after her, fingers finding a hank of pony tail and dragging her back.

Before Kitty could land another hit he deposited her roughly over his right shoulder. When her knee dug into his lungs, fists raining up and down his back, incessant, demanding to be put down his claws pricked along the backs of her legs, "For every punch you land back there, I'll take you over my knee for just as many strokes."

Kitty started screaming, knowing Logan wouldn't be far.

Victor hauled her off his shoulder and against him, his forearm crushing her ribs as his opposite hand clapped over her mouth. She sank her teeth into the meet of his palm, drawing blood and a hissing curse.

"Have it your way, little kitten."

He released her long enough to knock her out and upend her over his shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2

Kitty woke up to a pounding headache, her temple pressed to cool glass. She was riding shotgun in an unfamiliar truck.

"I know you're awake."

Victor Creed's voice brought the last six hours rushing back to her. Jubilee's blood had stained the arms of her uniform, her fingernails crusted black with it. She shuddered, turning away from her dirtied hands.

Her temple ached, she touched sensitive skin, wincing, and then remembering, tone accusatory, "You hit me."

He made no reply, eyes on the road.

"Where are we."

"Don't worry about it."

"Don't tell me-"

He cut her a warning glare, "Either go back to sleep or shut the hell up."

Kitty turned away, eyes on the shivering evergreens rushing past them.

Two hours waned before she announced quietly, "I'm not helping you."

He turned, black eyes boring into hers, "Without your powers, do you think you have a choice?"

Her hair had unraveled from its pony tail to halo her face, framing diamond eyes dripping disdain, "I'm smarter than you think."

He smirked, eyes returning to the road, "I'm counting on it."

Kitty turned her attention to the cuff around her wrist, finger tips tracing the smooth cool of the metal, searching for hooks or latches, an escape.

They drove another three hours before Victor pulled off route 95.

"Where are we going."

He pointed to a peeling billboard, boasting warm beds and poor cell connection, catching Kitty's look of surprise he gave a slow smirk, "Even monsters need their rest, little girl."

The motel was a few miles and a handful of dim side streets from the main road. Kitty stood, the picture of obedience, at Victor's side as he rented a room and handed over a stack of bills. But when he reached for her arm she couldn't curb her instinct, the man behind the counter watched, curious, as she jerked out of reach.

A muscle in Victor's jaw jumped to life, a warning. He reached for her again, this time, crooking his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. Kitty allowed it, expression impassive as he murmured a singular warning in her ear.

He scraped the keys off the desk and led her outside. She rolled her shoulders, trying to shake him off.

"He can't see us anymore."

"That's not the point," Victor growled.

"I'm not going to run," she snapped, annoyed.

"There's nowhere to run."

He skated the key over the lock twice before it finally caught, the door wheezed open, revealing a sagging mattress and twin end tables. Victor shut the door behind them, dropping his duffel to the floor, removing his long overcoat.

"I want to know why I'm here."

"I know," Victor said, taking a seat on the corner of the bed to remove his boots. "And I'll tell you."

"Creed."

"I heard you," he snapped.

"Then-"

"Do you want the bathroom first."

"I want you to tell me-"

His fingers dug into her throat, quieting her demand, "I said I'd tell you, now answer me. Do you want the bathroom first."

She relented, "Yes."

He released her, shoving a balled up t-shirt into her arms, "Go."

She showered briefly, long enough to soap her hair and body, anxious to hear what he had to say. She had to shut her eyes against Jubilee's blood swirling at her feet, tinting the water red and then disappearing down the drain. Tears dripped down the sides of her cheeks as she scrubbed her skin, her lungs aching with each swallowed sob.

The borrowed t-shirt barely brushed mid-thigh. She stepped out of the bathroom, curls wetting the back of her borrowed shirt, "I'm finished."

Victor shifted, eyes glancing off her bare legs for a half a second before he moved past her, warning her to stay put. He showered with the door open, steam curling to nothing just past the door frame. Kitty sat along the far wall, eyes trained on the lopsided bed, ignoring his nakedness a room away. He reappeared shirtless, black jeans riding low on lean hips.

"Now will you tell me."

He took the same corner of the bed he had before, facing her. He wore silvery dog tags around his neck, the chips hanging against dark chest hair.

"It's about Logan."

The name scraped like sandpaper along his mouth. Kitty's eyes narrowed, she said nothing, waiting on him to elaborate.

"The adamantium in his bones," Victor said.

"His mutation?"

Victor shook his head, "His adamantium skeleton has nothing to do with his mutation."

Kitty's brow wrinkled, absorbing his words. Her hair had begun to dry, curls fattening around her cheekbones and down her shoulders.

"I need to sleep," Victor said abruptly, standing to pull back the sheets. "Which means you will too."

Kitty stiffened, watching him unmake the bed.

"I have more questions."

"I'll tell you everything you need to know," he replied.

"But not tonight," she said.

He shook his head.

"Just enough to keep me interested," she said quietly, understanding his angle, irritated.

He offered no explanation or excuse, hitching his chin towards the mattress, "Come on."

"I'll sleep here."

He looked up, a warning rising in his dark eyes.

"Get in the bed."

She stayed perfectly still, waiting to see if fatigue would win out and he'd leave her alone.

"You don't want me to put you in it," he warned quietly.

She relented, slipping out of the overstuffed love seat to the mattress. Victor shed his dark pants, stripped to his underwear, and laid down beside her. He switched off the beside lamp, darkening the room. Kitty stared up at the ceiling, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Victor rolled onto his side, she could feel his breath along her hair.

"Katherine."

She stayed perfectly still, gaze trained straight ahead, aware of their closeness, ignoring the drumming of her heart.

"Don't try running off," he said, breathing beginning to even out. "I will find you."

She turned away, unsettled by his threat, delivered like a promise. His hand found her arm, claws prickling along the underside of her wrist, "You understand."

"Yes."

He released her, his broad shoulders blocking out the wedge of light along the door frame. Kitty laid beside him, wide awake, head spinning. If adamantium wasn't part of Logan's mutation, was he mutant or man-made?

He was in the bathroom when she woke up, the clock read barely six. His knapsack was on the floor, an arms length away. She sifted through it, gaze split between her investigation and the bathroom door. Her fingers found bungled clothes, a hunting knife the size of her forearm, and a thick folder, ragged edges turned yellow with age.

She peeked inside, _Jimmy_ , _adamantium_ , Logan's picture jumped out at her from the wrinkled documents. The bathroom door clicked open, she released the file, eyes flashing across the room.

"What are you doing."

"Who's Jimmy."

"What are you doing," he repeated, closing the distance between them, kicking his knapsack clear of her reach.

She stood up, hair springing to life, meeting his dark eyes, "Who's Jimmy."

Victor stared down at her a muscle ticking to life in his jaw.

"That's Logan's picture-"

His palm was hot against the front of her throat, fingers digging into her skin, "I'd stop trying to rile me up, little girl."

"Is it working yet?" She demanded quietly, nails biting into his wrist.

He said nothing more, grip tightening and then disappearing, "Get dressed, we're leaving."

He dragged a t-shirt over his head, half way human freed of his dark trench coat. Kitty stepped back into her suit, flecks of dried blood shimmering to the ground at her feet as she adjusted the sleeves.

"Ready?" Victor was at the door, balancing it open, a pearl gray morning in the reveal. Kitty moved past him, the motel looked even more run down in the light, paint peeling, the sign askew, one letter winking down at her.

"Where are we going."

"North."

She let him navigate her through the parking lot and into the bucket seat of his truck.

"They'll come looking for me."

He slammed the door on her words. When he opened the opposite door to climb in she continued, "I've been gone almost twelve hours, Creed. You can't expect them to wait much longer-"

Victor cut her a glance, "You never spend a night outside the Institute."

The motor revved, sparing her half a second of silence, she maintained his dark gaze, replying shortly, "No."

He turned away, expression unreadable, pulling the steering wheel, leaving the motel behind. She'd slept poorly, too aware of him beside her, her eyelids dragged lower and lower for every mile he drove them.

"Sleep," he suggested quietly, watching the pendulum dip of her chin out of the corner of his eye.

"Where are you taking me."

"North," he replied, again. She turned away, forehead to the chilly window, arms locked around her waist, letting sleep wash over her.

She awoke to the motor going silent. It was dark outside, the highway had disappeared, frogs and crickets bickered in the trees overhead. Victor was pocketing the keys, angled away from her.

"What are we doing in the middle of the woods," she demanded softly, blue eyes accusatory, just shy of frightened.

"If I wanted to kill you I would have done it already," he said, stepping out of the truck, stretching.

"Creed-"

"Relax."

" _Victor_."

At the sound of his name on her lips he turned, "I live out here."

"You took me to your home."

When he offered no reply, she slid out of the car, muscles protesting the sudden movement. He was at her side, knapsack slung over one shoulder, opposite hand extended, "It's dark."

She ignored his hand, fingers closing around a fistful of his shirt, "Lead the way."

The woods were ripe with sound, the moonless sky offering little guidance, Kitty kept her eyes on Victor's back. There was a break in the trees, she squinted, the hooded silhouette of a house lay in front of them.

"This is yours?"

"I told you, I live out here."

When he shook her off and started into the darkness she took a halting step forward, grabbing his knapsack. He turned, "Stay here."

"Where are you going."

He stared down at her, feral eyes glowing in the nighttime, "Are you afraid of the dark, little girl."

He could smell her fear, spiking the air, translucent and sweet. She made no reply. He hooked her wrist in his hand, leading her around the house, free hand fighting with a generator, flicking on the power. It sizzled, the wires jumping to life.

He led her up porch steps and inside. It was made entirely of wood, the logs crisscrossed at the ankles. Kitty looked around as Victor turned on lights, flooding the downstairs, revealing a fireplace, stairs to another floor. He stopped, absorbing her expression, "Now what."

"It's beautiful," she said, cheeks humming pink. "I'm surprised."

He grunted something unintelligible, opening the back door.

She took half a step towards him, "You're leaving?"

"I'm going to find dinner."

She was mute, panic slithering down her spine. They were in the middle of nowhere, if he never came back she'd be hard pressed to find the truck and get home.

"Katherine."

She looked up, removed, for a moment, from her terror.

"I will be back."

The door snapped shut behind him, he was invisible the moment he left the porch, swallowed up by the nighttime forest. Kitty pulled his knapsack onto the table, jerking it open, disappointment and then irritation flaring, the folder was gone.

"Son of a bitch."

She walked room to room instead, exploring the cabin. The furniture was hand made, by Victor or another pair of hands she wasn't willing to bet, the floors covered in hearty rugs. It was homey by definition, a log cabin tucked into the wilderness.

 _Even monsters need their rest, little girl_.

She settled onto the couch, wondering briefly what Logan and the others could be thinking.


	3. Chapter 3

He came through the back door two hours later, forearms streaked with blood. She twisted to face him, expression wary. He looked her over, she was smaller than he'd expected, barely reaching his shoulders. She was startlingly beautiful, he felt it like a kick to his gut. Moon-pale skin and fighting lips hovering above the back of his couch, eyes edging between blue and piercing. He hadn't considered her looks when he'd selected her for her mutation and her historic devotion to Jimmy, but now, staring at her, he knew he'd made a tactical error.

"Are you hungry."

"Yes."

"Come outside," he suggested mildly, starting to smirk. "I'll show you how to gut a deer."

"By the looks of it, you already did," she replied, eyes drifting to his arms. He returned to the porch, she let him, disinterested in seeing the insides of an animal, or further bloodshed.

The table was set with twin plates by time he returned with the cooked meat. Victor deposited a heaping portion of meat onto each, ignoring Kitty's lifted brow. They ate in silence punctuated by the slink of forks against knives.

"How long are we staying here," Kitty said, her plate halfway cleared, her stomach bursting.

He looked up, "I'm not in the mood for questions."

"When, then?"

His gaze returned to his plate.

"What else do you know about Logan's past?"

"Katherine."

"Why did-"

He slammed a hand to the tabletop, skittering her knife free from the lip of her plate.

"Enough."

She pushed her plate towards him, finished with the food and his temper. He let her disappear onto the porch, confident she wouldn't wander, remembering the terror in her eyes at the prospect of the dark.

It was well after eleven before he went to find her, stepping noiselessly onto the porch, eyes on her turned back.

"What are you doing out here."

She jumped at the sound of his voice.

"What's the matter."

She scraped tears from her cheeks, wetting the sleeves of her suit refusing his gaze, "Nothing."

"Katherine."

She released a breath, admitting, chin to her chest, "I can't stop thinking about Jubilee."

"What happened."

Annoyance flared, he'd been in the same room as her lifeless body and he'd noticed nothing.

"Pietro killed her."

Victor was silent for a moment, then, offering, "I could kill him."

She let out a shaky laugh, head falling into her hands, "That won't bring her back."

"Sometimes revenge is a good solution as any," Victor replied quietly, arms crossing over his chest, eyes on the dark fringe of the forest.

"I don't want you to kill him."

"Noted."

He sat down on the top step of the porch, silent. They stayed that way until her shoulders stopped shaking. She dried her cheeks, casting a slow look at Victor, standing guard against the world.

She stood, passing him, quiet as a ghost on bare feet. The house was dark, a small fire glowing in the fireplace. She sank onto the couch, eyes squeezed shut against the echo of Jubilee's spine snapping neatly in half, bathed in the yellow light of the fire.

She awoke from a bad dream at the corner of three a.m. The fire had long gone out, the house smelled faintly of smoke and ash. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, taking a slow inventory of the room, the sprawling moonlight, Victor reclined in the love-seat alongside the fireplace.

He was spread out in his chair, legs crossed at the ankle, arm slung over the headrest. His shoulders stretched the worn out cotton of his flannel, the V revealing a cut of tawny skin and dark chest hair. There were twin indents on either side of his mouth, a suggestion he smiled. He was devastatingly handsome, staring at her intently, churning her best judgement to dust.

"Victor."

His brow lifted, his name on her lips a surprise worth waiting up for.

"What are you doing," she demanded quietly, slipping free of the couch, inhibitor cuff catching the moonlight.

He tracked her progress across the room, replying, "You were crying in your sleep."

She jerked around, framed in the dark slats of the window, frowning, "Crying."

Her fingertips lifted, feeling the apples of her cheeks, detecting moisture, embarrassed.

"You've never watched someone die," he said, a question delivered as certainly as a statement.

"No," she admitted softly.

"It only gets easier."

Her eyes flashed upwards, catching his, mouth opening to wreck havoc.

"Careful," he warned, something in his dark gaze suggesting he was more dangerous than his sprawled figure let on. She twisted away, gaze on the darkened tree line, fury chasing the sleep from her eyes.

"I want to know why I can't go home," she said. "I want to know everything you-"

"Or what."

Kitty stiffened at his interruption.

Victor straightened, freed of his chair to tower over her, demanding again, quieter this time, "Or what, Katherine."

"I'm not as helpless as you think."

His responding smirk set her teeth on edge.

"I'll tell you everything you want to know," he promised, moving steadily closer.

"When," she demanded, hands lifting to her hips, head thrown back to hold his gaze.

"You haven't heard my terms," he said, closing in.

Kitty took a halting step back, brow furrowed, "Creed-"

He gathered up her wrists, anchoring them to either side of the window, the glass cooling her spine, the rough of the frame biting into her skin.

"You almost broke my nose yesterday," he said quietly, she felt his black eyes like a burn. She squirmed, trying to drag her wrists free of his grip. "It's been a long time since I've seen my own blood."

Kitty's stilled, starting to glare, "You deserved it."

"I'm thinking about returning the favor."

She moved to phase, instinctively, spine shivering in return. Disappointment flooded the line of her shoulders, pulling a small sound of defeat from her lips.

Victor's pupils dilated, "I like that noise, sweetheart."

Some of her ire returned, in no more than a murmur, she replied with a definitive _fuck you_.

His eyes narrowed a fraction, "I'll tell you what you want to know," claws pressing deeper into her wrists, forcing her gaze upwards. "And then I'm going to have you."

Kitty's eyes widened, turning navy in the nighttime.

"No."

His grip increased and then disappeared, he left her standing, framed by the murky windowpane.

"No," she repeated, louder, moving forward to follow him.

"You're not interested?" He asked, stopping, turning back around to her. She swallowed, faced with him, uncertainty balling up in her throat. He'd undone the first few buttons of his flannel, revealing the crux of his collar bones heaved above the muscles of his chest, she could make out the steady trip of his heartbeat at the base of his throat. "Lie to me," he challenged, smirking in her silence. "Tell me you don't want me."

"I'm not your type," Kitty said blindly, relying on a mosaic of ghost stories Logan had raised her on. Victor Creed was a monster, no man was capable of atrocities like his.

Victor's dark eyes dipped low, catching first the curve of her breast and then her twilight eyes, smirking soundly, "Any woman who doesn't wear underwear beneath her uniform is my kind of woman."

Her cheeks flamed, she tried a different strategy, "You kidnapped me, stole my mutation, I couldn't want-"

He closed the distance between them, fingers stealing into the hair at the base of her neck, tipping her head back so he could run his nose up the length of her throat.

"I can smell the wanting on you," he said quietly, a low growl drifting up between them. She froze, desire shocking her insides white hot at his words, searching for disgust she couldn't muster. "Jesus, you must be soaked."

She rocked her knee into his groin, the ball of her hand seeking his throat.

"That was a mistake," he ground out, straightening, eyes bleeding to black, iris and retina quilting dangerously.

"Don't touch me."

"It doesn't matter what you say," he shook his head. "You want me."

She glared back at him, chest rising and falling, hair unruly around her shoulders, looking every part the ruined woman he wanted her to be. Searching for the right words, enough words to tell him off.

"What's the matter," he goaded. "I thought you weren't my type."

"I'd wager anything with tits is your type," Kitty snapped, mouth compressed to a thin line, pulse picking up in her fury.

"You think so."

"Men like you don't care who it is," she replied, shaking her head. "As long as you're satisfied."

"Are you satisfied?" He demanded, cutting her off. His question threw her, the naked desire to have an answer laid bare, burning between them when he demanded, "Answer me."

"I don't know what you want me to say," she replied, some of her fury ebbing in the wake of her surprise, uncertainty washing her uncomfortable.

"I want you to tell me who's satisfying your needs."

She edged backwards, issuing a quiet command, "Stop."

Victor regarded her quietly, "You're too old to be a virgin, Katherine."

She stiffened, "I never said-"

"Then what are you worried about."

Her gaze flickered upwards, brow starting to furrow, "You've raped women."

"Killed them, too," he replied quietly.

Her eyes widened a fraction, at his tone or past, he wasn't willing to bet.

"Then why are you asking what I'm worried about," she demanded softly.

"I told you," he said. "If I wanted to kill you, I would have."

"But-"

Her voice trailed off, cheeks humming pink. Victor waited, a slow grin spreading across his face. Kitty's eyes narrowed, she opened her mouth to tell him off, but he was quicker, "The thought of fucking me was enough to make you blush."

She was silent, cut from granite, expression a study in fury.

"Go back to sleep," Victor suggested. "You can give me an answer in the morning."

"My answer is no," she snapped, just as his feet hit the bottom rungs of the stairs.

"We'll see, little kitten."

"Creed-"

He left her standing in the semi-darkness of the living room, disappearing upstairs to his own bed.

She tried to sleep, restlessly, for the better part of the next hour, finally giving in and picking around the first floor. Heedless of time, or the lightening skyline, she shifted rugs, wiggled boards, and opened closets. If he wouldn't field her questions, she'd make her own answers.


	4. Chapter 4

The sky had just started to glow orange in the distance, the moon receding beneath the tree tops, when Victor's gruff voice brought her reeling around. It had been three hours of methodical searching. His black eyes touched on everything she'd moved or shuffled through, each intrusion glaringly obvious to his gaze.

"Find anything interesting."

She pushed onto her feet, taking in his furious expression. He was stripped down to low slung Levi's and his dog tags, exposing sinewy muscles and a smattering of silvery scars.

"No."

"You're a bad liar, baby."

She scooped the only piece of evidence she'd found, a singular, yellowy photograph, holding it out to him, "Who are these men."

Victor's gaze shifted to the tattered photo for half a second, recognizing his own face, Logan, their past teammates. His black eyes returned to Kitty, narrowed, "What did I tell you about going through my stuff."

"If you didn't want me to see it, you wouldn't have left it-"

He crossed the room, snatching the photograph away from her, letting it drift to the floor between them.

"I didn't leave it out," he ground out. "You went looking."

"It wasn't hard to find," she argued.

"That's not the point," he snarled, fingers digging into her arm, dragging her a fraction closer.

She stared up at him, shaking her head, "You're lying."

"Why would I lie," he interrupted, glaring down at her.

"You tell me."

Victor dipped his head a fraction closer, claws pricking her skin, "Maybe to find an excuse to take you over my knee-"

Kitty head-butted him square in the jaw, ducking beneath his arm when he made a grab for her. He issued a curse, tasting blood in his mouth. She'd retreated to the far side of the room, flanked by the living room windows, the couch between them, "I won't let you beat me."

"You think you have a choice, little girl."

She angled her chin, the picture of rebellion.

He shook his head, crouching low, eyes slating to black, issuing a final warning, "You'll regret making this harder than it has to be."

When she didn't surrender, he launched himself at her, Kitty caught him square in the chest, knocking him backwards long enough to put another ten feet between them. He turned on her, black eyes narrowed, "Enough."

Kitty didn't take her eyes off him as he stalked towards her. She lowered into a fighting stance, keeping her breathing low and even, understanding the scent of her terror would only rile him up. When he rushed her she delivered a bone cracking blow to his arm, and another to his throat, buying herself an iota of time.

"You're running out of options, Katherine."

He was an arms length away, radiating heat, boring down on her. Before she could slip out of reach he scooped up her wrists, slapping them to the wall at her back. His expression shifted, impressed in spite of himself, "Not bad."

"I'm not helpless without my powers."

Victor looked her over, a slow smirk, "They'd come in handy right about now."

"Fuck you."

He leaned a fraction closer, pressing her wrists higher, "Say it again."

Her eyes narrowed, heart starting to pound.

"Not so brave anymore," he shook his head, her fear salting the air between them.

She stared up at him, silent, waiting. His traded her wrists to one hand, turning her around, her cheek to the rough of the wall. She cried out his name, a singular syllable when his claws tore her suit, baring her back, the curvature of her ass.

His hand came down across the newly exposed skin, once, twice, at the third hit her eyes smarted with tears. She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to beg, absorbing each hit as though made for it.

When he finally stilled, she released a shuddering breath.

"I catch you with your hands on something that's not yours again, I'll beat you until my arm tires," Victor said quietly. "And I promise you'll tire of it long before I do."

She winced as he released her, unshed tears hanging on the black fringe of her eyelashes, anger rushing up. She turned, fury slating her eyes indigo.

"Don't say anything that will tempt me to continue," he warned, hand closing over her naked ass, fingers tightening, finally drawing a cry from her lips.

She shifted, trying to skirt away from him, marrying her hips to his in the process. The press of his erection hot and insistent against her thigh.

Her eyes blazed up at him, "You fucking sadist, you enjoyed that-"

"What did you expect," he cut in, black eyes boring into her, voice pitched low. His gaze absorbed every inch of her. From pink streaked cheeks, to the wild hair around her face, the tears glowing, locked, in her diamond eyes. "You look hot as hell when you're helpless."

She jerked backwards, shoulder blades coming up short against the wall, he planted a hand just above her head, boxing her in.

"I bet you'd look even better hanging over my knee."

Her eyes widened, surprise rendering her quiet for a moment. Something spiked the air, sweeter, heady. His black eyes narrowed, he inhaled again, mired in the scent of her unmistakable desire. Her fighting words, the fury turning her eyes to steel, meant nothing. She wanted him. He felt the knowledge in every splintering muscle of his body, in the low burn of his own desire.

His mouth sealed hers before she could issue another expletive, before she saw it coming. He cradled her to his chest, arm slung low on her hips, the other leaving the wall to palm the back of her head. When his tongue swept between her lips she bit down, flinching at his returning snarl, his claws pricking her waist. He lifted his head, mouth hovering just above hers to growl, "Don't fucking try that again."

She released a quiet whimper as his lips settled over hers, his free hand slipping along her thigh to cup her ass, fingers digging into sensitive skin. She stiffened, fingers dug into his bare chest, clinging, body in chaos. His hand slid down her body, between her ravaged suit and skin, finger probing, she jerked against his grip, starting to struggle in earnest.

He lifted his head, looking her dead in the eye, "You're wet."

"Go to hell."

"What are you upset about," he demanded. "My hands on you, or liking it-"

"Go to hell," she repeated, enunciating every defiant syllable, each scathing letter. He held her a moment longer, before disappearing his grip, freeing her. He let her stalk away from him, suit ruined, downy skin exposed, his finger prints along her ass. The bedroom door slammed behind her, lock sliding into place, he grinned, in spite of himself, no lock would keep him out.

Within the hour she reemerged, ignoring him, making for the porch in a borrowed t-shirt and bare legs. He left her outside for the better part of morning, stiff with wanting her, furious at her rejection, considering having her anyways. When he opened the door to the back porch she started, eyes frozen on the forest, expression hardening. He waited, watching fury tighten the lines in her face, the slip of her shoulders.

He broke her silence, "You didn't make a sound."

Sunlight had restored her confidence, she faced him squarely, "You sound disappointed."

His smirk was brutal, "I think I'd like the sound of you screaming my name."

Her eyes narrowed a fraction, refusing to be baited, "I want to know what I'm doing here."

His brow lifted, his deal burning between them like an unholy ghost.

"You can't keep me, and expect me not to have questions."

"You know my terms," he replied simply, arms folding over his chest, shoulder braced to the door frame.

Kitty's returning smirk was pure ice, "You can't think I'd let you touch me."

"Again," he reminded softly.

"You're a monster, Creed," Kitty said, moving towards and then past him into the house, sunlight beating her back. "And I'm not in the habit of fucking creatures."

He had her up against the house, rough wood pricking her skin, his hand at her throat.

"This feels familiar," he snarled, eyes edging to black.

"I won't give you what you want."

He waited, eyes burning into her, fingers tight against the column of her throat.

"I won't make a sound," she promised, delivered like a threat.

"You think you'll be able to control yourself."

Her chin lifted, exposing her pale throat to the sunlight, mutinously beautiful beneath his tanned blunt fingers, "Yes."

He held her another heartbeat, expression unrelenting, a muscle working along his jaw.

"Yes," she repeated, meaning it to her core. His eyes turned to slits, gauging her sincerity, weighing reality against the iron in her expression.

"You were wet for me once."

"That doesn't make me willing."

"We'll see," he said quietly, fingers unwrapping, her feet touching the wood of the porch. She slipped free, disappearing in a flash of untidy hair and lithe legs.


	5. Chapter 5

It was nearly dark before he saw her again, fresh from the shower, long hair wetting the same borrowed t-shirt.

"Katherine."

She paused, on the cusp of the living room, eyes on his turned back.

"What."

"Watch your tone," he suggested mildly.

She took a steadying breath, trying again, "What, Victor."

He shifted at the sound of his name on her lips, expression unreadable, "Do you like whiskey, little kitten."

She thought of Logan, his penchant for bar fights, blood run dangerous with whiskey, Rogue at his elbow pleading with him to cool off.

"You hear me."

"Yes."

He turned to face her, flannel unbuttoned to his waist revealing his dog tags glowing like hot iron.

"Yes, I like whiskey."

He plunked two glasses onto the counter top, extending a heavy bottle of whiskey towards her. She collected it from him, eyes carefully shy of his exposed chest, decorated with snaking scars. She poured them both a heaping glass, ignoring his raised brow at her initial gulp.

He buttoned his shirt for dinner, she poured more whiskey. In the time their plates were filled, eaten, and cleared, she barely said a word. He waited until there was nothing but their two glasses and the whiskey between them to comment.

"You're quiet."

Her gaze flicked upwards, voice flat, denim eyes snapping, "Isn't that what you wanted."

His smirk was predatory, she dropped his gaze, understanding the image of _want_ she'd conjured, naked and on her back. He watched her refill her emptied glass, disappearing it like a shot. His black eyes narrowed a fraction, watching her.

Her pointer finger traced the rim, whiskey turning molten in her veins, muddying her best judgement to better.

"You beat me earlier today."

"Katherine," he said. "If I beat you, you wouldn't be walking."

"You had your hands on me."

"Some women wouldn't mind that."

"I never asked you-"

"Then ask me to do something else," he intervened, sipping his whiskey, watching her over the rim.

"You had your hands on me, and I-"

She broke off, head tipping to one side, eyes skidding free of his.

"You, what?" He demanded quietly, attention hooked.

"Wonder if I'll regret going to bed with you."

He was frozen, watching her, "Say that again."

"You heard me," she reached for the bottle, stayed by his fingers clamping her wrist, pressing it to the wood table top. He held her there, inhaling deeply, waiting for the spice of her arousal to hit him, but nothing came.

He shook his head, releasing her, "The night I have you won't be after half a damn bottle of whiskey."

Annoyance flared at his rejection, stung, riding on the assumption he'd take whatever she dangled in front of him.

"Then you won't have me at all," she snapped, a neat jab to his pride, an outright lie.

"I'm banking on making you change your mind."

She let out a humorless laugh, "I can't think of any reason I'd let you touch me, Mr. Creed."

"Mr. Creed," he repeated, smirking. "Next time, you can just call me _daddy_ -"

Her glass was airborne, sloshing whiskey across the table and cracking into his shoulder. Victor looked from the glass making lazy spirals on the floor, to Kitty, expression murder. "Pick it up."

Kitty refused, settling the line of her shoulders against the back of her chair, motionless, expression placid enough to make him see red. He shoved the table aside with a snarl, leaving just enough of a gap to close the distance between them, fingers closing on her arm, hauling her up.

"You don't want me to ask you again."

"Let go of me."

He hesitated, briefly, to make sure she understood the implicit consequences of ignoring him a second time. When he released her she collected the glass, placing it neatly into the sink.

"Go," he pointed a singular finger at the downstairs bedroom.

"I'm not tired."

He glared at her, a blend of fury and incredulity, "What did you say to me."

She made no reply, walking steadily towards the back porch before he snared her bicep, fingers tightening to bruise.

He ignored her wince, "I want you to think before you disobey me, Katherine."

She was perfectly still, save the samba her heart was racketing against her ribs.

"You think your ass hurts now," he demanded, jerking her a fraction closer. "You won't walk when I'm through with you."

He released her slowly, tracking her progress from the kitchen to the bedroom, slow enough to boil his blood. The moment her bare feet hit the doorway he turned, making for the back porch, far from trusting himself within ten feet of Katherine Pryde.

She woke up to a pounding headache and a sore ass. She'd twisted the blankets into an unrecognizable mess, the clock read half past twelve. Refusing to avoid what was irrevocably unavoidable, she slipped free of the mattress, left in her borrowed t-shirt and bare legs. Victor was on the porch, empty beer bottles making a neat outline around his chair.

His eyes bounced between her blood red toe nails and unruly hair, "You look like you just got fucked."

Her eyes narrowed a fraction, voice placid, "You look drunk."

"It takes more than a few six packs to get me drink, sweetheart."

"You seem to be well on your way to surpassing your limit," she commented before turning back to the house and disappearing though the glass doors. He prowled after her, eyes on her bare legs.

"How are you feeling, little kitten."

"Fine."

"You slept a long time," he observed mildly, swallowing his smirk when she tipped her chin to look at him.

"You have comfortable beds," she replied, starting to smile. "Especially when you're not in them."

He made a small noise of discontent, watching her move around his kitchen, finding a cup, and then water. He stepped closer, palms connecting to the counter, trapping her between the wood and his hips, "Do you remember what you offered me last night."

She avoided the urge to stiffen, expression smooth as glass, "I didn't offer you a thing."

"You're lucky I wasn't drunker," he pressed, ignoring her rebuff. "I may have taken you up on that offer."

Kitty lifted her elbow, knocking his half done beer fizzing into the sink, foam turning the chrome white. He gripped her bicep, jerking her around to face him, "What the hell are you doing."

"I don't like you drunk," she replied shortly. "You're mean."

"You haven't seen mean yet, little girl."

He dropped her arm, fingers digging into her hips to lift her onto the counter. His jeans scraped the insides of her thighs, riding her t-shirt nearly to her hipbones. She shoved a hand between them, pinning the fabric to the counter before it revealed too much.

"Close," he murmured, eyes on the lily skin of her thighs, exposed, in stark contrast to his black jeans.

"I don't understand what you want," she shook her head. "You want me quiet, but you want me to fight you."

A smirk pulled the corner of his mouth, "I'll tell you what I want-"

Her free hand closed over his lips, silencing whatever lewd suggestion he planned to color her cheeks red with.

"I'm not interested."

His fingers roped her wrist, jerking her hand free of his mouth, "You try that again I'll bit your fucking fingers off."

She made a singular attempt to pull free, he retaliated, grip becoming bone crunching, moving deeper into the crux of her legs, connecting the hand holding her shirt with the bulk of his penis. She released the fabric, modesty forgotten, wide eyed and angry.

"You're in my house, wearing my old t-shirt, sleeping in my bed," he released a low growl, the thought of her scent on his sheets heightening his arousal. "If I want you, I have every right to take you against any goddamn wall in this house-"

"Bullshit."

His brow lifted a fraction, the fight in her eyes restored, the line of her chin lifting, panic replaced with iron.

"You kidnapped me," she continued, voice steady. "That doesn't give you the right to-"

"What did you do last night," he interrupted, demanding.

She stopped, eyes narrowing, "I slept."

"Before that."

"I slept," she repeated, spine stiff, expression suddenly unreadable.

"I could smell you."

Color flooded her cheeks. He pressed his nose to the side of her throat, mouth to sensitive skin, "You touched yourself-"

She cracked her chin into his nose, spewing blood, her knee catching the space between his ribs. He lost his grip on her hips, she slid free, bounding for her bedroom. His fingers closed around a hank of her t-shirt, just shy of the doorway, bringing her to a stop, sending her sprawling across the floor. She lifted herself up, balanced on her hands and one hip, staring up at him through tangled curls.

"What'd you think about," he said, hunkering down a few feet away, holding her captive in his dark eyes. She shifted, aiming to put more than an arms length of space between them, but he snatched up her ankle, sliding her incrementally closer despite her protests.

"Let go-"

"Answer me."

"I did," she snapped. "I slept-"

They were nose to nose, his hand leaving her ankle to wrap her throat, fingers pressing just hard enough to warn against blood shed.

"Answer me."

She gambled, "Logan."

He released a warning growl, black eyes narrowed to slits. His claws pricked the sensitive skin of her neck, she held her breath against the pressure, chin falling back a fraction.

"You're a fucking liar."

The smirk that slid into place was feline, slating her eyes, inciting another growl of protest.

"What did you think I was going to say," she demanded softly. "You?"

She let that hang between them, waiting for further violence, some argument, but he was deadly silent. He smelled like beer and pine needles up close, there were faint traces of amber in his eyes, lines bracketing his mouth, no more smile than scowl. He was devastatingly handsome, with his hand around her throat, holding her hostage. Her body reacted, a slow burn spreading from her center, unwanted, unwarranted.

His smile was slow, for every lifted increment she felt her body like a traitor. He eased a fraction closer, mouth just above hers, black eyes blurring, "You're a liar."

He released her, leaving her on the floor, furious and beaten at her own game.


	6. Chapter 6

A week past, Kitty spent most of it on the back porch, cocooned in blankets watching the slow drip of leaves from the trees. Victor prowled the woods, tearing through deer and bobcat, winding his way home to Kitty's uncertain presence.

It was another two days before Logan appeared. Marking an exact week and a half since Kitty had been taken. Victor was on the porch, having picked up Logan's scent some hours before, waiting. He stepped into sight, boots hitting the semi-circle of wood chips between the tree line and the porch steps, expression severe.

"Lose something?" Victor asked quietly, mocking.

"Where is she."

Victor smirked, "Inside, making my dinner."

Logan released a snarl, claws started to shiver free of his crooked knuckles.

Kitty appeared in the doorway behind Victor, expression frantic, "Logan-"

Victor caught her arm when she pressed past him, anchoring her to his side.

Logan started forward, finger extended in a warning, "Get your hands off her."

"Logan, it's alright," Kitty said, trying to move towards him, jerking against Victor's hand on her arm. "I'm alright-"

"Get off her-"

"Don't come any further," Victor warned, eyes slating to black.

Kitty's heel found his instep, she stumbled free of his hold, bounding down the steps to throw her arms around Logan. Victor stiffened, watching the exchange, jealousy rearing up.

Logan's arm lifted, holding her, still glaring at Victor over her pony tail, "Half-pint."

His endearment relieved a fraction of his irritation, she would always be a child in his eyes. Kitty clung a little tighter for a moment, breathing in Logan's familiar scent, before releasing him.

"Did he hurt you."

She shook her head, lying, "No."

Her heart whispering her reality, _not yet_.

"What the hell happened to you," Logan demanded.

Kitty shifted uncomfortably, knowing too much, but nothing at all.

"What is this-"

He picked up her wrist, revealing the cuff. Victor crossed the porch, coming towards them.

"Please," Kitty twisted, beseeching. "Please, don't."

He stilled, hands balled at his sides, tempted to ignore her and rip Logan's arm off at the seam for touching her.

"He can't stay."

"I'm not leaving without her."

Victor didn't bother repeating his sentiment, eyes on Kitty.

"I heard you," she said quietly. "Just let me talk to him."

"Be quick," Victor said, turning back towards the house.

"I'm not leaving you here," Logan said tightly, eyes on Victor's retreating form. "Don't ask me to."

"I'm not," Kitty said, looking up at him. "I'm telling you. I'm staying."

"What the hell is going on."

Kitty released a breath, hand to her hair, "I don't know where to start."

"How about with this," Logan said, fingers finding her cuffed wrist, exposing the silver to the sun.

"It's an inhibitor cuff," she said carefully, watching the rage infuse his brown eyes.

"Your mutation-"

She nodded, "Muted."

"That son of a bitch-"

She braced both hands to Logan's chest, holding him back, "I'm staying because I want to, not because he's making me."

"Then why hasn't he taken this off?" Logan demanded, hooking her wrist, holding it between them, damning.

She offered nothing, she had no reply.

"Shit-"

He scraped both hands through his hair, a gesture so akin to Victor's own frustration that she nearly told him all there was to know.

"Logan," she laid her hand on his arm, forcing his gaze to hers. "Please, trust me."

"It's not you I don't trust," Logan replied, eyeing the cabin. "He lives out here?"

"Yes."

"Some place."

"I'm safe."

"For how long."

"I'm safe," she repeated, forcing him to hear her.

"Why you, half-pint."

"It's a long story."

He stared down at her, frustrated, demanding, "What can you tell me."

"I'll tell you everything you want to know when I'm back home," she promised.

"When."

She didn't answer right away, gaze skating free of his.

"Jesus."

"I'm sorry."

"Is he working with Sinister?"

Kitty shook her head, "No, nothing like that."

Mister Sinister had returned, after almost a decade of silence, rousing an even deeper divide between mutants and zealots. Any chances of an alliance had been discontinued, old wounds opened, mutants lost. Kitty felt a familiar squeeze in her chest, her ribs clicking together riding an unsteady breath, Jubilee on her mind. Sinister had gone noticeably quiet in the last half a year, untraceable, lost to even Jean's mental probes. She felt Logan's frustration in the face of another dead end.

"I don't want to leave you here," Logan said. "Rogue will have my head."

"I'm fine," she promised, feeling the lie in every muscle in her body.

"What do I tell the others."

"I'm safe," she said, burrowing herself under his arm, holding his larger body between her arms, eyes squeezed shut. "Tell them I'm fine."

"If I tell them you're with him-"

"Then don't," she replied, looking up at him. "Tell them I'm recovering."

Logan's expression sobered, "We had to bury her."

Kitty's chin dropped to her chest, "I've been gone a long time."

"A week," Logan estimated, rubbing slow circles up her spine. "Not so long."

"Long enough."

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, "I tried to save her."

Logan held her a fraction tighter, chin to the top of her head, reminded, viscerally, of the nights spent rocking her back to sleep when she was a new recruit. The sound of her wailing, dropped to the basement or floor below her bed, terrified of the darkness.

"There was nothing you could have done," Logan said quietly, holding her tightly to his chest until her tears subsided.

"I watched her die."

He pulled her free of his shoulder, meeting her gaze, wordless.

She shook her head, blinking back fresh tears, "You should get back."

He stared down at her, torn.

"I promise, I'll be home soon."

He dropped a kiss to the top of her head, squeezing her one last time, bestowing more affection than she was accustomed to. She lowered herself onto the last porch step, watching his steady lope into the trees until he was out of sight.

"Katherine."

The door snapped shut behind him, footsteps bringing him to the top of the stairs.

"What did he have to say."

She shook her head, eyes on the trees, "You expect me to believe you didn't hear all of that."

"He left you."

"He trusts me."

Victor moved down the steps to stand in front of her, hunkering down, meeting her gaze, "You trust me."

"That's not what I said," she moved to shift away from him, free of his black gaze, his half truths.

His hands landed on either side of her hips, knuckles to the wood of the porch steps, boxing her in.

"You wouldn't have stayed if you didn't trust me."

"I stayed because I want answers," she replied evenly.

He held her gaze, noting the tears, Logan's lingering scent.

"What's the matter."

"I'm fine."

"You were crying."

She shook her head.

"Jubilee," he said quietly, watching her eyes refill with tears.

"They buried her," Kitty said softly, avoiding his gaze.

"You weren't there."

She turned away, eyes on the foliage along the side of the house, "No."

His arms disappeared, leaving her open to the cool breeze. He sat down on the step behind her, the rough of his jeans cradling her hips, arms easing her into his chest. Her shoulder stiffened at the gentle touch, uncertain.

"Relax, little kitten."

She did, her muscles loosening, eyes fluttering shut, as she reclined into his strong chest. They stayed that way until the twilight, listening to the slow crescendo of crickets in the trees.

Their dinner was quiet, the first meal they'd eaten together since she'd spilled his beer and broken his nose. In the process of clearing the table he announced, "I'm going into town tomorrow."

"What about me."

"You're staying."

Kitty expression folded into a frown, "Alone."

"I'll be back before dark."

"It's not that."

He shot her a disbelieving look.

"It's not," she argued.

"The last time I tried to walk out of here without you, you begged me not to leave you."

"I didn't beg you to do anything," she replied.

A smirk stole across his lips, "Not yet."

"Stop."

He watched her, noting the pink along her cheekbones, the annoyance flaring in her indigo eyes.

"If I'm going to stay here-"

He let out a laugh, repeating, genuinely amused, "If."

"Logan knows I'm here, he'll come back for me."

Victor was quiet, accepting this truth, the surge of jealousy that kicked up in his gut.

"If I'm going to stay here," she pressed on. "You can't bully me, I won't let you-"

"You think you have a choice."

His fingers twisted up in the front of her shirt, forcing her around to face him, bringing them toe to toe.

"How many times do I have to tell you, you're in my house, you're sleeping in my bed, and you're wearing one of my old t-shirts," he said. "You don't make the rules around here, sweetheart, I do."

"You need my help," she argued, staring up at him.

"I'll have it," he corrected.

She shook her head, "You need-"

"You'd refuse me," he interrupted. "And risk going home with nothing to show for it."

Kitty fell silent, he'd dangled Logan in front of her, a carrot she was hard pressed to refuse.

"He'd want me safe," she said carefully, conscious smarting. "No matter what the cost."

"What about you," Victor demanded quietly. "What do you want."

"I want to know what I'm doing here," she replied.

His fingers tightened a fraction, pulling her a step closer, hearing the invitation in her words.

"We both want something," she reasoned, heels digging in. "Why not compromise-"

"Compromise."

"Yes."

He shook his head, "You helping me isn't up for debate."

"But you want me," she said. "Wanting you, I mean."

"Yes."

She wet her lips, his gaze followed the motion.

"I don't sleep with men I can't trust."

He smirked, baring his teeth, instantly transformed and devastatingly handsome, hand twisted up in her shirt, knuckles against her gut, "I don't plan on sleeping much."

"Victor."

"Katherine."

The words bungled up in her throat, his hand anchoring her at the sharp edge of certain chaos.

He took advantage of her silence, "You'll help me."

"And I'll decide when you have me," she said, her terms laid bare. He was silent, looking down at her, weighing her terms, his wanting.

"There will be consequences," he warned, finally. "If you don't uphold your end of things."

"There are consequences for everything I do," she replied.

"I'll have you," he said, delivered like a promise. "One way or the other."

"On my terms," she countered, disbelieving the words as they poured out of her, her body at stake.

Victor mulled it over, watching her, instincts screaming he should take what he wanted from her and be finished. But, the thought of her naked along his sheets, his name on her lips, _wanting him_ , finally winning out, "Deal."

Their handshake felt like a sin.

"Deal," Kitty repeated, surrendered, and soulless.


	7. Chapter 7

He left the next three mornings in a row, returning by midday, assorted brown bags tucked into his chest. On the third day, he extended one to her, she poked inside, thermals and black leggings were folded neatly inside.

"Thank you."

He grunted in response, moving past her, deeper into the house with the rest of his purchases. He took most of it to the shed out back, the door banging shut behind him.

"Get some sleep."

She raised her head, he smelled like pine needles, returning from the shed, a leaf caught to the arm of his flannel.

"What for."

"We have a drive ahead of us tomorrow."

"Where are we going."

"North," he replied.

She opened her mouth to say more but he turned away, disappearing upstairs, out of sight. She waited for him to come down, watching the clock, listening for footsteps. Finally, giving up, she laid down, curiosity keeping her awake another hour.

Wake up."

She sat straight up, eyes unfocused, pulled from a hazy dream. His grip on her shoulder tightened a fraction, "Katherine."

Victor stared down at her, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, his shadow over her bed.

"What is it."

"It's time to get up."

His fingers circled her wrist, claw ticking twice against the inhibitor cuff.

"You haven't even told me where we're going."

She slipped free of the sheets, revealing bare legs, the cusp of one shoulder. Victor's gaze dipped to the press of her breasts, and back up, releasing her as though she'd burned him.

"I'll tell you on the way."

She pressed onto her knees, snatching up the twin lapels of his jacket, forcing him to stop, bringing his gaze down to hers.

"Tell me now."

"We're going to a facility just across the border," he said, annoyed by her persistence. "It's where Jimmy got his adamantium skeleton."

"You keep calling him that-"

"It's his name."

"No-"

"Yes," he interrupted her rebuttal, tone brooking no argument, jaw set.

"How would you-"

"I'm his half brother."

Kitty went stone still. Her hands fell away from his jacket as she slid out of bed, oblivious to his gaze tripping an unsteady line from her breasts to her ankles.

"You've known about his past and said nothing?"

He offered no reply, no explanation for his decision.

"For how long?" She demanded.

"All my life."

Her expression was torn between frustration and disappointment, "I don't know where to start."

"From the beginning is probably best," Victor replied, evenly.

"Then start," she said. "Go."

"We need to leave."

"Not yet-"

"It's a long story," a note of warning in his tone.

Her hands lifted to her hips, the architecture of her breasts in stark relief against her shirtfront.

"I'm not-"

"Jesus, woman," Victor released a low growl, "I can't think straight looking at you half naked."

Her cheeks burned, surprise colored her blue eyes gray.

"Get dressed," he said. "I'll tell you what you want to know on the way."

He slammed the door behind him, leaving her to dress. The morning was breaking periwinkle in the distance, leaving the sky overhead a deep indigo. Kitty slid into the truck, waiting for Victor to climb in beside her to say, "Start talking, Creed."

He did, for the next two hours. Carefully explaining his relation to Logan, their parents, the wars, and finally William Stryker's adamantium injections.

"Why would Logan agree to something like that," she said, reeling from the amount of information laid before her, the decades between them.

"He wanted to be stronger," Victor replied.

"For who?" She said. "Or what?"

Victor made no reply, jaw tightening a fraction, Kitty made a note of it before posing another question, "What was Stryker's angle?"

"He wanted super soldiers."

"Then why wipe Logan's memories?"

"Jimmy didn't want to cooperate, Stryker thought wiping his memories would turn him around."

"It didn't," Kitty guessed.

"No," Victor replied. "It didn't."

Kitty was quiet for a while, contemplative.

Finally, she released the question that had been burning her since he'd picked her up, "Why me."

"I told you, I need your mutation," Victor said. "You're my ticket into the facility."

"I'm not the only mutant you could have used."

"No," he admitted.

"Then why me?"

"I knew you'd come willingly."

"Once I heard Logan's name."

He was silent, she was trapped.

"What are you trying to find in this place."

"Anything I haven't already gotten my hands on," Victor replied.

"About Logan?"

"About all of this."

She was quiet for a moment, "And why now."

"I've put it off long enough."

She was skeptical, "What's in it for you."

"Wiping Jimmy's memories left him vulnerable," Victor replied. "I want to know what Stryker's saving him for."

Kitty was quiet for a moment, and then, "It would have been dangerous for him to lose control over both of you."

Victor's dark eyes narrowed a fraction, "Nobody controls Victor Creed."

She offered no reply, too overwhelmed thinking about Logan to argue his point.

"Katherine."

She started, turning to face him.

"Don't think I've forgotten our agreement."

Something twisted up in her gut, expectation and terror pulsing, pushing her blood to pound.

"You can't mean-"

He cut her a smirk, "Now? No."

She relaxed, ignoring the prickle of disappointment, calling its bluff.

"But I will have you," he promised, eyes returning to the road. She turned to her own window, eyes on the skyline, starting to resemble peach fuzz as the sun hit its peak.


	8. Chapter 8

They drove for hours, Kitty was quiet, turning over Logan's past in her head, Victor's stake in all this. When they finally stopped, dusk was breaking dark blue in the distance, leaving the sky overhead a slather between pink and periwinkle.

Kitty slid free of the truck, looking to Victor, a question in her eyes. He pointed, pulling her attention through the trees in front of them onto a tall building maybe two hundred feet away. The facility was formidable looking, with high concrete walls.

Victor identified the sentries, Kitty lifted her wrist, "Take this off."

He hesitated half a second, before procuring the key. It was no more than two inches long, sharp as a needle, and just as thin. She looked up, her wrist caught in his palm, his opposite hand holding freedom, insistent, "Take this off."

He inserted it into the only hollow along the cuff's surface, and instantly the metal sprang open on invisible coils. Kitty rubbed the skin beneath, watching him repackage cuff and key and stow it in his coat.

Kitty flexed her mutation, phasing first her hands, and then more and more of herself. She walked fully through him, and back, satisfied.

"How do you feel."

"Normal," she replied.

"Good," he hitched his chin towards the building. "Lets go."

"How do you know where we're going."

"I've been here before."

Something in his tone quieted her barrage of questions. She said nothing more, unsettled. They reached the first security measure, a high barbed fence. Kitty picked up his wrist, guiding him halfway through, the fence cutting down the center of his chest. Before he could take another step she sunk him into the ground, holding him there, phased.

"What the hell are you doing-"

"You need me to get inside," Kitty said, eyeing the facility looming over them. "But you're going to need me to get you out of there, too."

Victor's eyes narrowed a fraction.

"I need you to promise that I'll have access to whatever we find in there."

"And if I refuse?"

"I'll leave you here and retrieve the information myself."

A muscle jumped to life in his jaw, bartering was foreign territory to him, this woman was proving to be more than he'd bargained for every step of the way.

"Fine."

"We have a deal?"

"Yes," he snapped. "Now let me up."

She pulled him free of the ground, bringing them fully through the barbed fence, and onto the first concrete wall.

"Where do we need to go."

Victor guided her, until they were brought up short by a cluster of heavily armed men. She released his arm, prepared to fight. He took a bullet to the shoulder and chest as he barreled through them, swiping his claws through two men's bellies in the process. He chanced a look behind him, Kitty had felled two men, and was overtaking the remaining three.

"We should keep moving."

She was at his hip, hand on his arm, he felt the friction of her phase along his skin.

"Where to?"

"This way," he indicated.

"How do you know?"

He stared down at her, unaccustomed to women who talked back, who asked questions, who were off their knees. It was surreal having a woman at his side in battle, on a mission, her dark ponytail bobbing in front of him in time with the switch of her ass.

"This way," he finally repeated, tone brooking no argument.

She moved in the direction he indicated, unable to shake her wariness. Another posse of men appeared, a short lived distraction. Kitty turned to face him, cheeks flushing, a tear along the hip of her pants. His gaze hitched on the exposed skin.

"Stop-"

"Stop what," he demanded quietly, knuckles brushing her bared flesh.

"Creed."

His mouth slid into a smirk, "Keep moving."

She did as he asked, happy to be out from beneath his heavy gaze. The corridor wound around, overhead lights dappled the floor in varying degrees of shadow.

"Do you think he's here?"

She hadn't seen Stryker freed of a TV monitor and in-person, in recent years his political aspirations had been replaced with more sinister projects that left him out of the public eye.

"It's too heavily guarded to be empty," Victor reasoned, hanging back for a moment. "Hold on-"

His fingers found her arm, tightening, his touch cooler than she expected.

"Creed-"

She phased but his fingers remained, iron clad, around her. She jerked against his grip, "Let go of me."

Victor complied, revealing the silver of the inhibitor cuff. Kitty attacked, head-butting him, slamming her free elbow into his groin. She made it half a step away before his hand landed on her shoulder, jerking her backwards into his chest.

"Knock it off," he growled, jerking her closer, grip tightening, finally, to bruise.

Confusion muddled her eyes to gray, fury compressing her lips into a thin line, "What the hell are you doing-"

"Change of plans."

Kitty took a step back, "What are you talking about."

"I'm not here for Stryker's files, I already know what I need to know," Victor said. "I'm here to see Stryker."

Kitty stared up at him, "This was your plan all along."

He said nothing, his non-answer damning.

"Why did you bother taking this off at all," she demanded, holding up her wrist, the cuff catching the overhead lights, winking between them.

His expression shifted, unreadable, she waited, receiving nothing. Before she could demand another question he gripped her arm, leading her through a final door. It was a smallish entry to two larger rooms. One was lined with hospital beds and silvery equipment, the opposite revealed human sized restraints rigged to the walls, stained concrete floors.

Kitty lurched backwards, taking it all in, picturing Logan chained like an animal and experimented on in turn. Soldiers appeared, behind them William Stryker's graying form. Victor tore through the guards shredding a path to Stryker.

"Victor Creed."

Victor faced him, one hand still manacled to Kitty's arm, fingers streaked with blood.

"It's been a long time, old man."

He regarded Victor through wire rim glasses, expression unreadable, "What are you doing here."

"I'm here to make you a deal."

Stryker's brow lifted.

He pressed on, aware of his limited audience before Stryker's patience thinned, "I want the adamantium injections you promised me, in exchange for the girl."

Kitty tipped her chin, looking up at him, "Promised-"

Stryker's gaze pinned her, "I know you."

She fought the urge to squirm.

"You're the Wolverine's girl."

Victor stiffened at his assessment, what should have been triumph felt like a challenge.

"She's yours," Victor said, pressing her a fraction closer, ignoring his instinct to shuttle her to freedom. "If you give me what I want."

"And if I refuse," Stryker said, removing his glasses to wipe the lenses.

"She'll phase us out of here."

Kitty jerked against his grip, eyes snapping fire, "Like hell."

His fingers tightened around her wrist, "You'd chance leaving me here? With what I know about Logan's past."

She avoided his black eyes, snared, annoyed with him and her own unshakable loyalties.

"He knows you've taken her."

Victor's attention turned back to Stryker, "Yes."

"You think he'll come for her."

"I know he will," he replied.

"What makes you think I want the Wolverine back."

"You're not through with him," Victor said, confident in his assessment. "If you were, you wouldn't have wiped his memories."

Kitty started to struggle in earnest, until Victor's arm wrapped her waist, pinning her to his chest. She jammed her heel into his instep, stumbling free of his arms. When he reached for her again she lashed out, her boot grinding into his throat, sprawling him backwards.

"Very impressive," Stryker said, eyeing her.

Kitty spun, sprinting around Victor's felled body and towards the doors along the back of the room. He was on her within seconds, crashing them both to the ground. She felt blood seeping through the knees of her leggings. Each palm was rubbed raw from the impact. He gripped her wrists in either hand, hauling her up, dragging her around.

"I need an answer," he growled.

"You weren't strong enough for these injections forty years ago," Stryker said calmly. "What makes you think you're ready now."

Victor released a snarl, "I can handle it."

Stryker shook his head, "It will kill you, Victor."

"I can handle it," he repeated, voice growing louder, his promise tipping to demand.

"Get out," Stryker commanded. "Or I'll have you killed."

Victor stared back, starting to smirk, "You've had forty years to kill me, what makes you think you'll be able to do it now."

Something in Stryker's expression changed, Kitty felt it like ice down her back.

"If you let him, he'll kill you."

Victor black eyes flicked downward, catching her gaze, "I haven't had you yet, sweetheart."

She jerked backwards at his words, brought up short by his hand on her arm.

"I've got a lot to live for," he promised.

"I'm sure you've noticed the new equipment," Stryker commented, glasses reinstated, sizing Victor up, for what Kitty wasn't willing to guess.

"Looks like you've spent forty years greasing palms," Victor said, unimpressed. "I haven't lost my edge."

Stryker's smile was reptilian, "We'll see."

"What about me."

Stryker and Victor's gazes dipped, landing on Kitty.

"He's right," Stryker said. "Logan will come for you."

"He doesn't know I'm here."

"If he found you once, he'll find you again," Victor replied, confident, his trap set.

"You're a bastard," she hissed, jerking away from him, eyes slated.

"I'm a man who gets what he wants."

"You're a monster-"

His fingers dug into her throat, a warning, black eyes flattening.

"Careful."

She stared back, lips twisted into a scowl.

"Leave her," Stryker said, waving two armed men forward. Victor's fingers skidded down her wrist, tightening momentarily, one finger slipping beneath the cotton of her shirt.

"I should have known better," she said, two of Stryker's men taking her between them, shuttling her free of Victor's hold. "Victor Creed doesn't compromise."

He said nothing, watching her go, expression unreadable.

"Let me show you the lab."

Victor turned, Stryker was already in motion, older, grayer than he remembered, but just as calculating.


	9. Chapter 9

Kitty allowed Stryker's men to guide her free of the operating room, down a snaking hallway, to a private cell. The facility was eerily quiet, Kitty couldn't help but wonder what the operating theater was used for, stocked with sparkling steel equipment and tools.

The door to her new cell slammed shut, leaving her windowless with a single hard backed table. She sank onto the edge of the table, wincing, reopening the cuts along her knees. She dropped her head into her hands, eyes squeezed shut for a moment, cursing Victor, and herself for putting her trust in him. She straightened, something prickled the inside of her wrist. She rubbed the spot, frowning, fingers dipping inside the cotton of her shirt.

He'd slipped the key to the inhibitor cuff in between her skin and the fabric. She studied it, looking briefly down at her wrist, run bright with silver. He'd come back for her after all.

The better part of the next six hours was spent weighing her options against Victor's decisions, feeling the duel metals against her skin, the key and its lock. She practiced opening the cuff, releasing her mutation, and then caging it. Finally tucking both cuff and key into the top of her boots, wary of leaving herself vulnerable to Stryker's plans for her.

The door to her cell reopened well into the afternoon of the following day, revealing two heavily armed men, motioning her free. She was led along the same path of hallways, back to Stryker's operating room. He was alone, she scanned the twin rooms for Victor, coming up empty.

"Ms. Pryde."

"Where is he."

Stryker's brow lifted a fraction, something in her tone must have tipped him off.

"Anxious to see him."

She said nothing, waiting, expression frosty.

Stryker lifted a hand, indicating a small room, tucked nearly out of sight to her left. She moved towards it, opening the peephole slat, revealing an empty room and Victor.

He was sitting along the far wall, his eyes were flat, feral.

"What did you do to him."

Kitty felt a shiver, unbidden, unravel her spine.

"Answer me."

Stryker came to stand beside her, "He wanted to be stronger."

"He wanted an adamantium skeleton."

"I explained the risk," Stryker said, shaking his head. "He wouldn't listen."

"What's wrong with him."

"See for yourself."

He released the door, it slid open just far enough to Stryker to force her inside. She went stumbling forward, palms and knees catching on the concrete floors.

"Victor."

His expression was unreadable, nostrils flaring white, picking up her scent.

"It's me," she said quietly. "Katherine."

He unwound from the floor, straightening to his full height, looming, even five feet away, over her.

"Victor, please, it's me-"

His expression was unfamiliar, it was like being in a room with a stranger, she tried to steady her pulse.

"What happened to you," she said, palms flat to the door Stryker had locked into place at her back. Everything in the room was sterile and chrome, leaving Victor in stark contrast, even more monstrous.

"Come here."

His command was guttural, Kitty stiffened, even his voice had changed. He was a man unwound, tipping dangerously towards his animal instincts.

"What did he do, Victor," she said, desperately seeking some shred of his humanity. "What happened-"

"Told you to come here," he interrupted, voice rising a fraction, impatient. She took a steadying breath, moving a closer, holding his gaze.

"Victor."

There was a note of pleading in her voice, she was within arms reach, feeling the heat radiating from his body along her skin. He reached out, fingers tangled up in her hair, jerking her closer, nose to the side of her neck, "You have my scent all over you."

"I've been to your cabin," she said calmly, tears smarting the corners of her eyes at his roughness.

He leaned back a fraction, studying her, "You've been sleeping in my bed."

"Not yet," she countered.

"How about now."

She stiffened, his palm slid up her ribs to cup her breast. She panicked, heel finding his instep, scrambling backwards. He pursued her, snatching her up and slamming her into the wall, emptying her lungs, terrifying her.

"Victor-"

His hips married hers, pinning her flat to the wall, palming her breasts. She caught his wrist, fingers folding, trying to dissuade him, hesitant to phase and tip Stryker off to her newfound freedom.

"You want me."

She cried out, his touch growing rougher.

"I can smell it, little kitten."

Tears spilled onto her cheeks at his endearment.

"You promised," she said quietly, panic dissolving into defeat. "You promised me it would be on my terms-"

He stilled, eyes on her damp cheeks, expression unreadable. She was reminded, instantly, of their first night in the cabin.

 _"You were crying in your sleep."_

 _"Crying-"_

He remained perfectly frozen, fingers pressed to her ribs, black eyes hung on her upturned face.

"Look at me," she said softly, hands leaving his wrists, scaling his chest, carefully cupping his face. "You know me."

Her finger tips connecting to his cheeks surged a snarl from his lips, but she held fast, "I spent the last month sleeping in your bed, wearing your old t-shirts, drinking your whiskey."

She let those words sink in, watching him.

"I don't know what Stryker did to you, but you're not an animal, Victor," she said, ankle lifting, fingers falling, the key to the inhibitor cuff flashing between them, a testament to his humanity. "You're a man."

His gaze wavered between Kitty's face and the key, seconds ticked by.

"I know you," he said, finally, voice shuttled on rough vocal chords, hoarse, starting to sound something like himself. His head dipped, nose to her skin, then his mouth, she cried out as his incisors dug into the sensitive skin just below her ear. "You're mine."

Kitty jerked backwards, neck burning where he'd broken the skin, blue eyes widening a fraction.

"Victor-"

Before Kitty could say more the door to their right swung open, revealing a host of Stryker's men. They peppered a barrage of bullets into Victor's leg, sending him backwards, freeing Kitty to their rough hands. He roared, commanding them to let her go. Kitty phased, boot landing in one man's stomach, her fist arcing into another man's unprotected face. The butt of one man's gun glanced off her check, she spat blood, turning on him and taking him out.

Not halfway through the door Victor was on them claws slashing a line of red through the closest men. She stared up at him, gauging his sincerity, her safety in his hands, after Stryker's meddling. His black eyes were trained on her face, "I told you I wasn't going anywhere."

His breath was hot across her face, his fingers dug into her arms, she held perfectly still, uncertain whether she should kiss or kill him.

"We need to leave."

He lifted his head, assessing Stryker and his men, grunting his agreement. His hand shifted to Kitty's empty wrist, whispering a warning in her ear, "You'll regret leaving me here, little kitten."

She said nothing, the knowledge between them, that if she had any intention of leaving him behind, she would have done it already.

Stryker was ordering more soldiers, their boots echoing through the atrium. Inside the walls of the operating room Kitty could make out a lone figure, impressively tall in his white coat, black hair obscuring his face.

"Victor-"

"I see him."

A bullet ripped through Victor's arm, just above Kitty's shoulder, spraying them both with blood. She took a steadying breath, phasing them both as another bullet sailed towards them. It hit the wall at their back with a distinct thunk.

"Get us out of here," Victor growled.

She wiggled free of his grip, picking up his arm, expressionless as she pulled him through a series of chrome rooms.

"This is the end of the facility," Victor said, stopping short, staring down at her.

"Hold your breath," she instructed. With that she pulled him free of the facility into the solid earth surrounding it. It was pitch black, her hand on his arm anchoring him, pulling him along. When they broke the surface they were fifty feet from the outer fencing, close to where they'd cased the perimeter.

Victor pulled air into his lungs, chest rising and falling, noting the lingering panic in her eyes. The darkness had frightened the hell out of her, but she'd seen them through it. Impressed, in spite of himself, he snatched up her arm, pulling her onto her feet and towards the truck, "Come on-"

He navigated the sparse woods, pushing her towards the cab of the truck as he rounded the bumper. She ignored him, phasing clear through the tires and metal to meet him on the other side, "You bastard-"

She exploded his nose into a firework of blood.

"Jesus Christ-"

She was glaring up at him, vibrating with rage, hands clenched at her sides. He wiped blood onto the back of his sleeve, the bones in his nose already realigning. He must have read the urge to repeat the damage in her light eyes, issuing a singular command, "Don't fucking do that again."

"You lied to me."

"You didn't leave."

She took a step back at his words, the truth between them.

"You could have walked out of there whenever you wanted to," he continued, black eyes never leaving her face. "Why didn't you."

"Logan."

"Bullshit."

"Then tell me," she said, glaring. "Tell me, why."

"Me."

His declaration, _mine_ , rose up between them, she felt panic like a vise. She twisted away, hands to her hair.

"I gave you the key," he said, snatching up her elbow, forcing her back around to face him. "I gave you your ticket out of that place, what the hell were you waiting for."

"You promised to tell me things-"

"I also promised to fuck you senseless," he said, their bodies suddenly flush. "Which one were you waiting for, baby."

She slated a glare at him, offering nothing.

"Get in the truck," he said, releasing her elbow, inclining his head.

"Fuck off."

"Don't be stupid," he warned quietly.

"I want to go home."

Victor was silent, regarding her, finally shaking his head, "There's not a chance in hell I'm letting you go."

"Victor-"

He delivered a singular chop to the back of her neck, rendering her defenseless. She slumped forward, into his arms, forehead pressed to the side of his throat. He maneuvered her into the truck, checking first her wrists, then waist, and finally her boots for the cuff. Jamming the key into the ignition, Victor pulled them back onto the road, leaving the tree and Stryker's facility behind them.


	10. Chapter 10

She woke up, for a second time in two weeks, slumped against the door of his truck.

"Morning."

She slated a glare at him, fury bringing her wide awake. She lashed out, foot catching his neck, sending the truck careening across lanes.

"Jesus Christ-"

He jerked the wheel, crunching them along the shoulder to a stop. He caught her wrist before she could land another hit, forcing her against the seat, looming over her like a nightmare. Her pupils were pinpricks, pulse jumping at the base of her throat.

"You're going to kill us both if you keep that up," he ground out.

"You weren't concerned with staying alive yesterday," she snapped.

"I left you the fucking key, didn't I?"

Refusing to pick up where they'd left off, Kitty steered left, "What happened to you."

Victor shook his head, "Damn if I know."

"You weren't yourself," she said carefully.

"I felt like an animal," he replied, voice lowering.

"Let me up."

"You're finished," he said, expression a promise she wouldn't like the consequences.

"Yes."

He released her, she sat up, smoothing her hair, asking, "Did they operate?"

"They knocked me out."

"What else do you remember."

"Waking up," he said, black eyes on the tree line just past her shoulder. "They already had me locked up in that room."

"How do you feel now."

"Normal," he replied. "Better."

"Whatever they did, couldn't have been too serious," she said. "You snapped out of it quickly."

He aimed a look at her, which she avoided, "You brought me back."

"Any familiar face would have-"

"Is that what you think?" He interrupted quietly, seeking her gaze.

"Don't you?"

He was quiet, his silence as damning as any answer could have been. Before he could say more, _mine_ , she posed another question, "Why did you leave me the key."

He was quiet.

"Why, Victor," she pressed.

"So you could escape."

"Without you."

"Yes."

"Without-"

She broke off, searching his eyes.

"Fucking you," he supplied.

Her cheeks tinged pink, her expression unflappable, "Yes."

"I told you, little kitten," he shook his head. "We weren't through."

Without another word he turned back to the dash, hands on the wheel, shifting the car into drive and pulling them back onto the road. The twin marks he'd left on her neck burned, she avoided the urge to put her fingers to them.

They drove in silence for the better part of the next hour. The last twenty-four hours sitting like a third passenger between them, larger than life. At a quarter to eleven Victor released a pent up breath, "I need a drink."

The bar he pulled into was seedy at best. He glanced at her, her figure cut like temptation in lithe black, her wild hair, the fight in her eyes.

"Stay close to me."

She followed him to the bar, he ordered himself a whiskey, turning to her, "What do you want."

"Whiskey."

His brow lifted, "Whiskey."

She looked up at him, "Are you hard of hearing."

He smirked, turning back to the bar to order a second drink. He led her to the farthest corner of the bar, dimly lit and out of the way. He slid into the booth, watching her do the same, their knees making a neat right angle beneath the table.

She sipped her drink, the whiskey rushing warm and dangerous down her throat.

"How long have you been afraid of the dark."

His question surprised her, it showed in her diamond eyes. Of all the things to discuss, he'd pressed her sensitive parts.

"I'm not."

Her answer was delivered on auto-pilot, a knee jerk reaction to over exposure.

"Just answer the damn question."

Kitty couldn't help but laugh, "Says you."

He waited, staring at her, expectant. Her chin dipped down a fraction, she abandoning all pretense of haughty, "Since I was thirteen."

"Specific," he commented, glass tipped to his lips, the muscles in his throat working in swallow. She watched the motion, infatuated, quick to look away.

"It's when my powers manifested," she said, eyes dipping to her own whiskey. "Too many nights of phasing myself through the floor while I was asleep. I'd wake up downstairs, or in the basement-"

She broke off, frowning.

"What's the matter."

"It's terrible to wake up not knowing where you are."

He nodded, contrite, "Yes."

Kitty polished off her drink, cheeks warming.

"Another?"

Her palms were damp, heart turning her ribs rickety, "I shouldn't."

"Don't move."

As if it were an option, as though she was capable of deception this far into the whiskey and his black eyes. She watched his slow lope across the bar, he was taller than every man he passed, his shoulders stronger, exuding a quiet confidence that made other men step out of his way.

 _Mine._

He returned, their glasses filled to the brim, she accepted hers, their fingers brushed.

"What are you worried about."

This question, a second time, on another day, begging an answer.

"Whiskey," she said, looping hair free of her face, better exposing uncertain eyes, shivering lashes. "You."

Victor nearly dropped his glass.

"What did you say."

"You."

She blamed the whiskey and him for providing it.

"You kidnapped me," she said, brow furrowed. "You bargained me for your adamantium, you almost-"

She broke off, avoiding his eyes.

"You've broken my nose twice and blackened my ribs," Victor said quietly. "I've killed grown men for less."

"But not me."

"No."

"Why not," she said softly, finger tip tracing the sweaty lines of her glass.

His reply was gruff, "What do you want me to say."

She offered nothing.

"Answer me," he growled.

She lifted her eyes, reaching for her glass. His hand shot out, pinning her wrist to the wood.

"I still want you."

Victor didn't move a muscle, hand still clamped down on her wrist, trying like hell to figure out if he'd heard her right.

"Katherine-"

She jerked free to lift her glass, whiskey disappearing between her lips, gaze skating his.

"Then what's the problem," he said, black eyes hooked to her. "You know what I want."

Her cheeks heated at the promise in his words, _mine._

"I don't sleep with men I can't trust."

"This again," he leaned back, existing between defeat and inevitability.

"Yes, this," she replied, indigo eyes hooking his, seeking his soul. Then, barely above a whisper, "You left me."

His dark eyes narrowed a fraction, waiting.

"You said you wouldn't leave me."

"No, Katherine," he shook his head. "I said I'd always come back."

"Compromise," the line of her mouth shifted to tilt, he felt the word like a firecracker, lighting places he didn't know he had. Her hair shifted, revealing the twin marks, his marks, along her neck. In the heat of Stryker's manipulation, he'd claimed her, a ritual he'd never performed. He opened his mouth, a promise not to misuse her hot on his lips, but caught himself, just shy of making a promise he didn't know how to keep. Instead, replying, "It's time to go home, little kitten."

She nodded, swaying slightly when she stood, head light. His fingers found her elbow, guiding her to the door into the balmy night. He held her arm as she slid into his truck, spine sealing to the seat, one hand pressing curls back from her face. He traced the line of her hip to the taper of her ankles, imagining the feel of her thighs around his waist. His entire body lit to attention just looking at her. Releasing a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding he shut the door, and walked the hood of the trunk, keys cooling the palm of his hands.

He maneuvered the truck into the nearest motel, buying a room for the night with a neat stack of twenties. Their room had a balcony, decorated with crooked porch chairs and someone's cigarette butts. Kitty opened the sliding glass doors, stepping outside, allowing a steady stream of cool air into their shadowy room.

He sprawled out in one of the chairs, long legs stretched out, clicked at the ankle. She stayed facing away from him, chin tipped up, opal pale skin twinkling under the starlight.

"Come here."

She turned at his quiet command, still as a statue, looking like one of his wilder fantasies.

"Ask me again."

He did, dark eyes hooked to hers. She closed the space between them, silent as a ghost on bare feet. He blamed his bad upbringing, hell if he could put his finger on what her excuse was.

When she was close enough his hand lifted, fingers cupping her hip, easing her into his lap, settling her against him. She slid an arm over his shoulders, fingers resting along the crux of his flannel, seeking bare skin.

He looked her over, body tighter than a bow string at the feel of her. She smelled like strawberries this close, he could count every flicker of silver in her wide eyes.

"Jesus," he exhaled, caught between his soul and surrender. "You're too goddamn young for me."

She froze, expression unreadable. His finger tightened at her hips, forehead finding hers, eyes squeezed shut.

"Is that all you're worried about?" She said quietly.

"Damned if I know."

She pushed her lips to his, kissing, cajoling, the whiskey coloring her blood to bold. He tightened an arm around her waist, standing momentarily to flower her legs to either side of his hips. When he lowered them back into the chair she was aware of his erection at the center of her spread legs. His dark eyes were boring into her, washing away the last of her resolve. She leaned in, mouth to his.

She kissed him like a a drowning woman, her fingers laced in his hair, her thighs squeezing his waist.

In all his decades on this earth, he couldn't remember a better kiss, or a better woman. He palmed the back of her head, his opposite hand scaling the smooth of her thigh, finger tips digging, momentarily, into the curvature of her ass. She pressed closer, awash with wanting him.

When she finally turned her head, to take a singular gasping breath, he released a disappointed groan.

"Jesus-"

She eased back a fraction, hands to his chest, carefully meeting his gaze. He lifted a hand, scraping his fingers through his dark hair, looking at her, like a man seeing water for the first time.

"You are the damnedest woman-"

He pulled her close, kissing the line of her jaw, palm skating her ribs, finding her breast. She stiffened, immediate, panicked. Victor eased his hand back to the spool of her waist, mouth moving over hers. But the spell was broken, she'd come to her senses, the whiskey dulling. She straightened, hands to his shoulders, "It's late-"

He leaned back, watching her as she disengaged from his lap, running her fingers through her curls. She disappeared into the room, sinking into the corner of the bed, head in her hands, somewhere between elation and panic. Caught between wanting him, and knowing better.


	11. Chapter 11

She woke up pinned beneath a large, warm body. She unscrewed her eyes, blinking, disoriented, uncertain how long it had been since she'd been in bed with a man.

"You're crushing me-"

The arm around her waist, tightened momentarily, then disappeared. His leg remained firmly wedged between hers. Her shoulders lifted off the mattress, suspended on one elbow, she twisted to face him. The beginnings of a beard shadowed his jawline, matching the dark hair across his chest. He looked almost asleep, save the scowl starting at the corners of his mouth.

"What time is it."

She squinted at the clock, unable to make it out. A headache forming behind her eyes, the whiskey's sweet revenge.

In her silence he demanded, "Is it still dark."

"Yes."

"Then go the hell back to sleep," Victor growled. She relented, rolling to face him, eye level with his collar bones, the expanse of skin between his shoulders. His dog tags were a casualty along the sheets, she picked them up in turn, fingers tracing the raised lettering.

"What are you doing, little kitten."

She lifted her eyes, he was staring down at her, dark eyes narrowed slightly.

"Nothing," she replied, letting the tags slip through her fingers. "How long have you had them."

"Long enough."

"That's not an answer," she said, shifting away from him, sitting up to run a hand through her hair. Morning had left her unsettled, and awkward, her decision looming, waiting to crack her over the head.

"Where are we."

"Another three hours from home."

"Home," she repeated, the beads of her spine coming into careful alignment, awaiting his answer.

"My home."

She didn't turn, brow folding to frown, "What about me."

"What about you, little kitten."

The mattress shifted as Victor stood up, she could feel the press of his dark eyes on the back of her head. She looked down at herself, wearing her clothes from the day before, torn and dirtied, craving space as she spoke, "Yesterday, at the facility, you said I was yours."

He waited, watching her pick and choose her words like it would make a difference. Finally, she turned, staring up at him, uncertainty coalescing in her tired eyes, "Before you knocked me out, you said you wouldn't let me go, if I promise not to tell Logan-"

"Don't make promises you're not going to keep," Victor interrupted quietly.

"He'll come for me," she said.

His eyes narrowed at her threat, "He can try."

She stood up, facing him, hair in ropes down her shoulders, dark thumb prints beneath each eye.

"What are you saying."

"I gave you up once already," he said. "I won't do that again."

"I'm not yours to give."

"I'm every bit of the animal you think I am, when it comes to you," he said quietly, dark gaze ringing her dry.

"What are you talking about."

"You're my mate."

She turned to stone, convinced even her blood had frozen shut in her veins. She'd heard the word before, _mate_ , on Logan's lips. It was primal, foreign on her tongue, and rooted in every part of Victor that terrified her tired heart.

"I don't understand," she lied, hedging, hoping he didn't mean it.

"There's nothing to understand," he said, calm in the face of her rising panic.

"I'm not feral."

"Feral or not, I knew you were different," he said, watching her intently, the pieces of some puzzle linking together.

"Different," she repeated, easing another step backwards, minds eye on the door.

"I didn't take what I wanted from you."

"Wouldn't your mate be irresistible to you."

He smirked, "I didn't say it was easy."

Her cheeks warmed, she took another step backwards.

"But I waited," he said, adding pointedly, "I'm still waiting."

She fled, fingers fighting with the locks, knuckles scraped to hell along the roughly painted door. The door opened no more than two inches before Victor's hand appeared over her shoulder, forcing it shut with a snap. She twisted around, met with his undone flannel, the links of his dog tags.

"You can fight me all you want, sweetheart," he said. "But you've got my marks on your neck."

Her fingers lifted, touching the twin scabs, confusion crystallizing.

"You marked me on purpose," she said quietly, staring up at him.

"You're mine."

"Stop saying that," she snapped.

His free hand lifted, fingers slipping into her hair, tilting her head back to meet her gaze.

"You want me."

"That's not what this is about," she said.

"You want me," he repeated, fingers tightening, pulling her a fraction closer.

"Victor, please-"

"Phase," he said, lifting her wrist between them, her sleeve slipping, exposing bare skin. "Run away from me, little kitten."

She went perfectly still, staring at her wrist, pupils turning to pinpricks.

"Phase," he repeated, voice tilting, a challenge. Kitty couldn't will her body to motion, no less to phase.

She was silent.

"I removed it after I knocked you out."

"I didn't even notice," she said softly, frustrated she'd become so quickly adjusted to being without her mutation, adjusted to his hands on her skin.

"I know," he said, matching her quiet tone. His head dipped, nose and then mouth against his twin marks. Her eyes fluttered shut, heart thumping, reality starting to feel surreal. Victor Creed was a monster, an enemy of the x-men, of her, and now she wore his marks on her neck. Chaos wasn't big enough to encompass the clash of conscious and desire, the sick fated feeling she couldn't wring out.

His teeth found the sensitive lobe of her ear, nipping, before claiming her mouth in a kiss. She melted into his shirtfront, fingers tangled up in the twin flaps of his unbuttoned flannel, better judgement disappearing. His hand left the door at her back, looping her waist, marrying their hips, bringing his erection into stark relief against her thigh.

"I want you, Katherine."

He barely lifted his mouth from hers, issuing his singular desire.

"I know."

"Tell me what you want."

She was quiet, and then, softly, "I can't."

His grip on her waist loosened, creating space between them for his dark eyes to search her expression, "Tell me."

"I don't know what I want," she shook her head, hands braced to his chest. He was drenched in the scent of her arousal, prepared to tell her so, but she phased through him, hands in her hair.

"You want a man you can trust," he supplied, a quiet reminder.

She turned, understanding crystallizing, "Is that why you waited to have me?"

Victor watched her, silent, shoulders stiff, _yes_ on his lips.

"We should go."

His brow lifted, her tactic, the blatant avoidance. He didn't argue, simply buttoned his flannel and pulled on his boots. She stood at the window, the sun just starting to fan the horizon in light.

"Lets go, little kitten," he said, door open to the cool air. She jerked at the sound of his voice, ducking past him,

They drove south, silence between them, Kitty's eyes on furry evergreens and the orange sky. Victor's gaze was trained on the road, half of him wanting her, the other wanting to believe there had been some mistake. That this woman, an x-man, wasn't for him.

"I've been thinking."

He jerked, the sound of her voice a surprise after so many minutes of quiet.

"What."

"There was another man, a doctor, at Stryker's facility," she said, he could hear the frown in her voice. "We saw him right before I phased us out."

Victor made no reply, eyes on the black path of pavement ahead.

"Why would Stryker have a doctor on hand," she continued."You didn't see him at all while-"

"No."

She watched him carefully, quiet for a moment.

"Do you think he's the one who experimented on you?"

"I don't know, Katherine."

"He looked older, what about Logan-"

He slammed a hand against the steering wheel, she jumped, spine stiffening as he snapped, "I said I don't know."

She stayed quiet this time, turning the questions over in her own head.


	12. Chapter 12

It was mid afternoon by the time they reached his cabin, silent as they duplicated the process of leaving the truck and navigating the woods hand in hand.

The first thing Kitty did was change, stripping clear of her ruined pants and shirt, tainted with Stryker's facility. She rustled through the bag of clothing Victor had purchased two days before, finding a fresh pair of pants and a t-shirt. He was stoking a fire in the living room, expression unreadable.

"It's been a long day," she hedged, standing just outside her bedroom door.

"Where do you think you're sleeping tonight."

She wet her lips, offering no reply. He turned to face her, black eyes holding her hostage, demanding an answer.

"Victor."

He said nothing, watching her, waiting.

"I don't know," she finally said, the line of her shoulders depressing. "I don't know."

"I do."

He reached for her, fingers phasing through her waist, he growled in protest.

"What do you want from me."

He stared down at her, repeating softly, "What do I want from you?"

"Yes."

"I don't know how else to say it," he said. "You're my mate."

"What does that mean."

"You're mine."

She phased through him, walking into the living room, pacing briefly before turning back to face him, "What about me."

"What about you, Katherine."

"What I want."

"What do you want," he said, a muscle in his jaw springing to life.

"I want a say in this."

"Mates are mates."

"No," she said, hand slicing the air, cutting him off, denying his simplification. "That's not good enough."

"You weren't arguing eight hours ago when I had my tongue halfway down your throat," Victor growled in return, hands to fists at his sides.

"I needed time to think," she snapped, hands on either hip, cheeks tinging pink.

"Changing your mind doesn't mean a damn thing," he said. "Mates-"

"Don't say it again," she cut him off, voice rising. "Don't."

He studied her for a moment, the scent of her fear spicing the air.

"You're frightened."

"I barely know you."

"What do you want to know."

She released a heavy breath, eyes tipped to the ceiling for a moment, and then back to him, "Why me."

"You think I chose you?" His brow lifted, swallowing a grin.

Her hands found her hips, "Why wouldn't you."

He let out a laugh, scraping his fingers along his scalp, "You're an x-man, and you're a fucking handful."

"I'm flattered."

"You could kick my ass."

"I have."

He smirked.

"If you didn't choose me-"

"Mates aren't a choice."

Her shoulders stiffened at this, discomfort rising at the thought of her agency threatened, or worse, conquered.

"It's instinct," he said. "It's about knowing what's yours."

The marks on her neck burned.

"I didn't chose you, baby, because if I had a choice I'd leave you alone."

His admission stung.

"You're smart, and you're loyal," he looked at her, seeing parts of her she wasn't aware she'd shown him. "You've spent your whole life using your mutation to make you better, to make the world better."

She waited, breath held tight between her lungs.

"You're one hell of a woman, Katherine," he was shaking his head. "I don't deserve you."

"You don't have me," she said quietly.

He closed the distance between them, she fought the urge to phase. The pad of his thumb traced her neck, tipping her head, revealing his marks.

"You haven't run away from me yet."

"We're in the middle of nowhere," she replied quietly, indigo eyes on the windows, the black forest outside. "Where would I go."

"You're free now," he said, fingers circling her wrist.

"From the cuff, yes."

His brow lifted, "What's holding you here."

"At the moment," she shifted under his palms. "You."

"I'm serious."

"So am I," she replied. He stared down at her, gauging her sincerity, before he could overthink it she continued, "I want to know what you're not telling me."

He released her as though burned, brow starting to furrow, "What are you talking about."

"Our agreement," she said.

"What about it."

"You said you'd tell me everything, and then you'd have me."

"Anxious to be in my bed, little kitten."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I'm anxious to know what you're keeping from me."

Victor's expression dissolved into something she couldn't put a name to, "I've told you everything you need to know."

"I don't believe you."

His brow lifted.

"You know more about Stryker, more about what he's doing, than you're telling me."

He leaned a fraction closer, "Prove it."

Kitty's eyes narrowed, he was immediately sorry he'd baited her.

"I don't need to," she replied, feline in her confidence, assessing him coolly. "The fact that you haven't fucked me against every wall in this house is proof enough."

She turned away from him, the door to her bedroom snapping shut at her back before he could utter another word. Victor shoved both hands through his short hair, releasing a growl of frustration.


	13. Chapter 13

She found him along the side of the house, chopping wood for the fireplace, an hour of sunlight left between them, dimming the world to dusk.

"How long do you plan on keeping me here."

"I already told you," he said, swinging, muscles rippling beneath tawny skin. "You're free, little kitten."

"You know as well as I do that I won't make it through the woods by myself," she said, tone practical, voice steady, looking every bit the x-man she was. "You either need to take me to your truck, or let me call Logan."

He paused, the tip of the ax resting against the logs.

"Logan deserves to know everything you do."

Victor regarded her silently.

"Come back with me."

He stared at her, unsure who was more surprised at her request.

"To the institute," he said slowly. "To the x-men."

"Tell Logan what you know," she said, taking a single step closer. "Tell him everything, help us find-"

He shook his head, knowing where her suggestion was headed, "Your fight with Sinister has nothing to do with me."

"Bullshit," she said, disappearing the steps between them, fingers folding over his arm, demanding his attention. "Sinister is powerful enough to-"

"What do I get out of this."

"It's the right thing to do," she said carefully.

"What do I get," he repeated, snatching up her bicep when she made to step free of his shadow.

"If this is about your adamanitum-"

"It's about you," he said, fingers dug into her arm, black eyes never leavings hers.

"Honor our agreement," she replied, chin lifting, bold in her assessment of his dishonesty.

"You're ready to be fucked."

"I'm ready for you to tell me what's really going on," she snapped, phasing free.

"Sounds to me like the only thing you're ready for is me, baby."

Her cheeks ran pink under his gaze.

"We made a deal."

"And the only one not holding up their end of the bargain is you," Victor replied, angling towards her.

"I made that bargain before I knew-"

She broke off, searching for the right excuse, the magic words to release her.

"You were my mate," he finished quietly.

"Yes."

He shook his head, coming ever closer, "A bargain's a bargain, little kitten."

She searched his black eyes, head thrown back to hold his gaze, "It means something different now."

"It's sex," he replied simply.

"It's more than that, if what you say is true."

His eyes dipped to her neck, voice gruff, "It's true."

"Then-"

"Sex or no sex, you're still mine."

She felt his words to the tips of her toes, flooded with warmth, the unsteady knowledge that no man had made her feel this way.

"What about Logan," she blurted, finally faced with her own desire, startled to find it was a ferocious as his.

He spun her inch after inch into his chest, arm moving around her back, "What about him."

"He has to know," she said, fingers twisted up in his flannel, upturned face absorbing the last rays of sunlight.

"I promised to share what I know about Logan," Victor said quietly, eyes on her mouth.

"All of it," she hedged.

"All of it," he repeated. His lips hovered just above hers, black eyes hanging onto her, waiting for some signal, a green light, go.

Instead she issued a quiet truth, "I can't stay here forever."

"I'm not holding you here."

"Bullshit," she murmured, mouth lifting, sealing his before either of them could issue another word. His arm tightened around her waist, drawing her flush to him, his opposite palm stamped to the house at her back. Kitty's fingers scaled the front of his flannel, nails biting into the skin of his shoulders, urging him closer still. His hands fell to her thighs, urging them around his waist, sealing her spine to the rough of the house. Kitty's back arced, insistent, the press of him through cotton and jean becoming a torture.

"Tell me no," he warned softly.

"I can't."

He framed her face in his palms, demanding her attention, black eyes hooking her.

"Do you want me."

She hesitated, wetting her lips, feeling the weight of her desire.

"Answer me," he ground out, fingers tightening a fraction.

"Yes."

"Again," he commanded.

"Yes."

"You're going to have to do better than that," he said, starting to smirk, one hand cupping her breast, fingers seeking her nipple. Kitty's head fell back against the house, exposing the cut of her neck, the tic of her pulse. He kissed her thoroughly, untangling her legs from his hips despite her muffled protest, using both hands to reshape her breasts. When she reached for the button of his jeans he brushed her aside, lowering to his knees at her feet.

"Victor."

"Relax," he murmured, hands rolling her dark leggings free of her hips, uncovering downy skin, the shape of her thighs to the dying sunlight. She was all woman until he reached her knees, decorated with a galaxy of bruises, scraped to hell.

"Victor-"

He looked up at her, repeating his quiet command, ridding her of her pants. She didn't have another moment to worry, or wonder, before his mouth was on her. Her head dropped backwards, hands braced to his shoulders, nails biting his skin. He hooked her leg over his shoulder, opening her further, tonguing sensitive skin. It was perfect agony, his mouth on her, bringing her closer and closer to orgasm, and then edging her free of it. After what felt like a lifetime and no time at all she cupped his face, knees weak, forcing his attention upwards.

"Enough," he said quietly, gaze on the peaks of nipples, visible through the thin cotton of her shirt.

"Yes, please-"

He slipped free of her thighs, rising, gathering her to his chest. She tasted herself on his lips, surprised at her sweetness. He carried her around the house, up the porch steps and inside, intent on kissing her, heedless of their tumbling feet. She shifted towards her bedroom, just off the kitchen, but he pulled her back and up the stairs. The second floor was entirely open, sloped ceilings above a wide bed, his scent, distinctly pine needle and musk, hanging on each inhale.

She was sealed to his chest before she could make a full inspection of the space, having never ventured farther than the first floor.

His fingers found the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head, leaving her entirely naked before him. She fought the urge to squirm under his dark gaze, so intently laying claim to every inch of her.

"Jesus, you're beautiful."

She reached up, pressing his flannel free of his shoulders, mouth on the newly exposed skin. He undid his belt, the buckle of his pants, Kitty helped the fabric slide free of his hips, his thighs, finally his feet. He was impressive, shadow eating her whole. She ran a hand down his chest, fingers tangling in his dark hair, the links of his dog tags, tugging him closer

His fingers whispered along her folds, easing her backwards across his sheets, "You're ready for me, little kitten."

"Yes."

He braced one hand to the heavy bedframe, suspending his body over hers as he adjusted himself at the cusp of her entrance. Her thighs flowered, awash with wanting him, suddenly impatient to have him. He slipped inside of her, testing, waiting, watching her expression. When she lifted her hips, urging him deeper he complied, sheathing himself to the hilt, releasing a hissing breath.

Kitty wrapped her legs around him, sashaying her hips against his in slow semicircles. Victor released a growl, fingers digging into her waist, holding her still, warning quietly, "You keep that up and this won't last long."

Her smirk was feline, he bit her bottom lip. His strokes were long and slow, deliberately shallow at first, until she was writhing beneath him, begging on her lips.

"What do you want," he demanded, mouth brushing the shell of her ear, one hand riding the curve of her breast.

"Faster," she murmured, arching beneath him, tilting her hips for more. He complied, driving her deeper into the mattress, dark eyes on her upturned face, watching every minute detail of her expressive desire. She cried out her orgasm, body rippling, insides squeezing him. He waited until her breathing had reset, the flush receding.

"More," he demanded softly, awaiting her answer, starting to smirk. Her eyes flicked open, her hands found his shoulders, rolling him onto his back. She followed, thighs riding his hips, fingers pressed to his chest. He stared up at her, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and damned if she wasn't his.

She positioned herself over top him, taking him inch by sweet inch, until he reached for her hips, intent on expediting the process.

"No-"

She caught his wrists, pushing them to the sheets, hair rushing over each shoulder to brush his chest. Her hips started in slow figure eights, driving him deep inside of her and pulling almost free of him with every pass. Victor felt himself rushing towards oblivion, muscles straining, pulse pounding in his ears.

She leaned back, releasing his wrists, head tossed back to bring him home. He came with a roar, pouring into her, fingers digging into her waist to prolong the sensation. She was quiet, seated on his hips, exposed to his black eyes. He shifted, rolling her onto the mattress, lifting onto one elbow to lean over her, "Are you satisfied."

His question even more pointed the second time around.

"Yes."

He kissed her soundly. Her eyes closed, breathing slowing. He fell in and out of sleep beside her, surprised, each time he drifted awake at the sight of her beside him.

He woke up exactly five minutes before her the next morning. She was on her side, tucked carefully into the cove between his arm and shoulder, breasts riding the architecture of his ribs. Her hair was a mess around her face, hairband lost somewhere between his spine and his shoulder, an insistent itch he chose to ignore.

Slanting sunlight lit the curve of her shoulder, the curls sprung up and over his arm, lighting the tawny undertones. Her skin was the color of snowfall, the arcs of her cheeks, twin figs. He took a measured breath, disbelieving, this perfect woman, existed in extension to his rib cage.

Her eyes blinked open, revealing wide pupils, flecks of silver this close.

"Morning, baby."

She stretched, arms lifting, wrists knocking one after the other against the headboard. A slow burn started in every nerve ending, at the feel of her body lengthening, muscles splintering.

"Morning," she said quietly, forehead connecting to the side of his throat, eyelashes washing his skin. She held the sheets to her chest, sitting up, hair coming to life around her face, maintaining modesty she'd already forfeited. The pads of his fingers found her spine, tracking a slow path, lifting goosebumps along her skin.

"Katherine."

She turned, eyes wary above the rise of her cheeks, "What is it."

"You look beautiful," he said, voice going rough in his honesty. Color climbed her face, she turned away.

"I can't stay here forever."

"No," he conceded, smothering his disappointment that her mind had wandered right back home. She had twin constellations of freckles on either shoulders, light as cinnamon, shimmering in the sunlight.

"When will you take me back."

"When do you want to go."

She faced him, the sheet slipping, drawing his attention, "You'll come with me."

Her breasts were nearly bared to him, her question stated like a command, he wanted her more than he wanted to think straight.

"Victor."

"How do you expect me to concentrate," he growled, snatching up her wrist, yanking her across the sheets. "When you're half naked in my bed."

"I need an answer," she said, lifting his hand to the curvature of her breast, ever the diplomat.

He groaned his defeat, fingers tightening, "Yes."

"You'll take me back," she said. "You'll tell Logan-"

"Yes," he said, leaning closer. "Now kiss me."

She feathered kisses along his jawline, nipping the jumping pulse at the base of his throat. His fingers found her nipple, tugging, a warning. She lifted her face from the side of his neck, lips proffered like an offering.


End file.
